


From the Perspective of a Royal Guard

by CaptMickey



Category: King's Quest (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Retelling, a very tired guard and a very tiring career, it's all fun and games until things hit the fan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29549805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptMickey/pseuds/CaptMickey
Summary: Royal Guard Number One has seen it all, from the preparation of the tournament to the coronation of the new king.A re-telling of sorts of King's Quest 2015 from the perspective of Royal Guard Number One.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter One

Metallic boots clacked loudly on the marble floor as the head of the Royal Guards quickly walked out of the Throne Room, stacks of rolls bundled up underneath his arm tightly so as not to fall loose and unravel at his feet. He knew that His Majesty’s health was failing (thankfully not at an alarming rate), but all that did was remind him that the king’s time was slowly coming to an end. A dreadful and horrible thought, he knew, but something that he unfortunately had lingering in the back of his mind at all hours of the day along. Always wondering the what ifs and dozen upon dozen of alternate situations, each worse than the last. It didn’t help that, on top of the king’s well being, the Knights Tournament was another thing that constantly took up space in his mind, making sure all was set and prepared for the oncoming Knight Hopefuls as well as making sure that those that did apply did, in fact, showed up. All the preparations and maintaining meant that it left him with little to no sleep, running entirely on fumes with a hint of spite as he ran from one part of the town in Daventry to the other.

(It was also one of those few moments that he was thankful that his helmet obscured his face from others because he was absolutely certain that if anyone were to see him, they would mistake his own eyes for a hideous beast.)

But now that he had a grim update on King Edward, he knew he would have to push the date of the tournament sooner than later. And that would mean going around and striking out all the dates on the banners with the former and-- “Ugh…” He rubbed his forehead, already feeling the strain of the migraine intensifying from the increasing pressure. Perhaps he should send one of the new Royal Guards to do the task? It was an incredibly simple task that really anyone can do, the question was who could he trust it to? He went from the list of things that needed to be done to the list of Royal Guards he could trust with this task, trying to ignore the sounds of his footsteps doubling, voices calling out for his name to whatever trivial task ahead. 

At least, he assumed that was the case. It could have very well been something that was actually happening. But that was ludicrous thinking. Didn’t everyone know just how incredibly swamped he was with preparations? He halted suddenly, catching the second walker off guard as he felt them bump into him from behind. Staring up at the sky and sighing, he turned over to spot Royal Guard Number Two, rubbing the back of his helmet in a sheepish manner.

“Yes, Number Two?” He asked. “To what do I owe the back bump?”

“You kept walking away from me as I was calling for you.”

That explained the voice in the back of his head. “Yes, well, I have a lot on my plate at the moment so excuse me for not paying attention to whatever it is you were yelling about.”

“Understandable, I too would also be lost in thought grumbling to myself in a way that could tune people out.”

“Aren’t you the snarky one today?”

“I mean, that’s you always.”

The two knights stood in silence from their repertoire, wondering who was going to progress the conversation first or continue the battle of insults. After a moment of contemplation, Number One cleared his throat, trying to regain a level of professionalism that clearly eluded him at the moment of the bickering. “Anyways,” he began, “what was it that you wanted to say? And it better be important, I have far too much to do today with little to no time at all and I could use all the help I can get.”

“So I heard, what do you need help with?” Number Two asked, not needing to finish it with that he would help. He would, he always did. Through all their snark and occasional bickering, they had each other’s back through thick and thin. Perhaps there was a disgruntled remark here or there, but when push comes to shove, they knew they could rely on each other. This was why Number Two was numbered as such, he was, in every sense of the word, Royal Guard Number One’s Right Hand. His second in command. 

Relief briefly washed over him. “I need to change all the dates on the banners to say ‘today’ as opposed to ‘Tuesday’.” He explained, handing half the banners to his second in command.

“All the banners?”

“All the banners. And we need to have it hung up by tonight.”

Royal Guard Number Two exhaled, comprehending the request. “No wonder you’re being all spaced out.”

“I am not being spaced out.” Number One hissed. 

“Yes you are. You’re always like this when you’re stressed.”

“Oh hush.”

Number Two chuckled slightly as Number One rolled his eyes from beneath his helmet. “So what was it that you wanted to tell me?” He asked, sounding just a smidgen better.

At that, Number Two looked to the floor. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, well… how to put it…”

“The way you put it is that you tell me what you wanted to say in a few words, ergo creating a sentence. That’s how you put it.”

“Duly noted.”

“So tell me what it is you wanted to say.”

“I mean, you did say you don’t want more added to your plate and all...” He said, looking at the bundle of rolled up banners in both of their arms.

“Spill it.” Number One ordered. 

“The Bridge Trolls have gone on strike.”

A long and painful silence returned between the two of them, the sounds of the torches flickering and the birds in the distance outside the castle walls was all that could be heard in the hallway. 

“The… Bridge Trolls are on a what?” Number One asked, his voice laced in a frightening chill.

“A… a strike.”

“A strike.”

“Yes.”

“Any idea for how long?”

Number Two flinched, taking a small step back. “In… indefinitely.”

Number One nodded and turned away, walking from the conversation with his arms clutching the bundles in a grip that would kill a man. 

“Um… sir?” Number Two called out, following at a safe distance his superior. “You alright?”

“I’m. Peachy.” Number One hissed through gritted teeth. “Just. Fine. This… this is exactly what I wanted.”

“So you’re not fine.” He halted sharply in place, his shoulders were tense as he was apparently filled with regret immediately at what he said and looked to be that he wished desperately he could take it back as Number One leaned in dangerously close to his face, their helmets being the only thing blocking their noses from practically bumping into each other.

“Of course I’m NOT fine! The tournament is tomorrow, the banners aren’t done, I have to visit the Knight Hopefuls and inform them of the revised schedule and now I have the bloody Bridge Trolls on STRIKE!” He turned around and stared at the ceiling in dismay. Just his luck that this would happen. Wait, no. That’s silly. It’s not luck, it’s fate. It always happens that something always comes out of left field for him. Always him having to clean up whatever was going on. Why should this be any different? Stars, he just wanted to let out a good scream. Okay, let’s think, he thought. Where were they in terms of hallway? They weren’t near the Throne Room now, he booked it rather fast with banners at hand. Based on that particular portrait, he was close to his own office to grab the paint, which meant he was about, lets see… three or four hallways down from His Majesty. Just far enough to scream. He took in a deep breath, and yelled out as loud as he could. 

“ZARDS!”

\--------------------------

It was with a stroke of the brush across the final banner that Royal Guard Number One decided the chore was done. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he tossed haphazardly the brush into the bucket, disregarding the tiny splatters of maroon on his armor. He really should have worn a more casual garment, he figured, but time was far from his side. If anything, it was more his nemesis then a friend. He moved from his knees to a more comfortable sitting position as he leaned his head back, taking in the autumn breeze while his helmet was removed for the time being. It wasn’t often he took it off outdoors, always felt that he needed to have it on at all times just in case something arose (and something always arose here in Daventry), but those rare and brief moments were always a pleasure. 

He also made a tiny mental note to thank Number Two for the suggestion of painting in the Theater as opposed to his cramped office space that was filled to the brim with meaningless paperwork. 

“You got red on you.” Number Two remarked, snapping him from his reverie. 

“Hilarious.” He replied dryly. “Did you finish the last of the banners?”

“I did, I had the other guards go around to hang it up in town and the such. I’m guessing you just finished your batch as well. Want me to ask the other guards to hang it?”

He nodded. “This one gets hung here in the Theater.”

“Right.” Number Two nodded, walking to Kyle and Larry to give the command. 

The more Number One thought about it, the more tempting the idea to grab his lunch and sit outside was, maybe even perhaps take a nap underneath the soothing sunlight. Perhaps, closing his eyes for a few minutes couldn’t hurt, after all he hasn’t slept in who knows how long. In short, it was far too lovely a day to stay stuck indoors. But, reality ensued, and he still had his duties to attend to. With the banners revised and in the process of being hung, all he had left was to begrudgingly negotiate with the Bridge Trolls (preferably Waddles as he seemed to be the most… rational one of the bunch) and to talk with the Knight Hopefuls.

He sighed. It simply never ended. Number One quickly stood up, fixing up his hair and mustache while making a note to stop by the castle to grab both the list of contenders as well as change his uniform. It would simply not do to look so… painterly in front of the potential knights, it was far from professional. He picked up his helmet and brushed it off any dirt.

“Where you off to now?” Kyle’s voice rung out.

Number One looked over, spotting the usually stacked guards on top of one another trying to hang the banner. “I’m off to speak to the Knight Hopefuls, give them the rundown of the new schedule and… potentially, later on, argue with the Bridge Troll that they are being unreasonable.”

“A barrel of fun.” Larry chuckled. 

“I don’t envy you.” Kyle added.

“Yes, well, I don’t envy me either.” Number One placed his helmet back on. He looked once more at the sign and tilted his head slightly. “It’s skewed. Bring it up a few inches.”

“Yes, sir!” The two saluted, quickly flailing their arms to regain their balance.

He shook his head, quietly laughing under his breath before leaving to meet with the new recruits. 

\--------------------------

A grab of the list and a quick change of uniform later, Royal Guard Number One beelined towards the building that housed both Daventry’s knights as well as the Knight Hopefuls. He went over the list once more, muttering the names under his breath so as to make sure by the time he got there, he would be able to pronounce their names correctly. Some names sounded foriegn, though it would make sense considering a good portion of them were not locals of Daventry, but some names… he was nearly certain it was a prank. But were it not for the portraits attached to the names, he would have hardly believed it to be the case. 

He looked up just a few feet short of the door, placing the file under his arm as his knuckles rapped on the wooden door. Out of courtesy, he waited a minute before clearing his throat.

“I’m entering.” He announced and opened the door, stepping in with confidence. Inside, the building was well decorated (fitting for knights he thought) and cozy, keeping the warmth inside from the nipping chill of autumn outside. One of the knights walked by and halted immediately, looking over at Royal Guard Number One with a slight alarm.

“Hello.” They greeted, confusion found in their tone. “What can I help you with? Does the king need us?”

“No, not at the moment. I need to speak to the Knight Hopefuls.” Number One explained. “Do me a favor and please gather them for me in the main room?”

“Of course.” They saluted and went up to a different room as Number One made his way towards the aforementioned main room, flipping once more through the names and faces. Naturally, it did not take long for the knight to come back, stepping aside to let the Knight Hopefuls file into the room and standing in a line. Their sizes and armors differed greatly. From the giant mountain of a knight to the one that was so short that he practically blended into his environment, this year’s Knights Tournament was surely one for the books, he thought to himself.

“Is this all of them?” Number One asked.

“I believe so, yes.” The knight responded in kind. 

“Hmm…” Number One flipped through the portraits and looked back at the knights lined up. Something was off. He kept looking up and down, matching names, portraits, and knights. 

The giant horned knight, Sir Cumferance (or Acorn as he quickly scribbled in the application form) was undoubtedly here. The knight that was blinding him from the reflecting light off his armor (and he thought he was the type to obsessively polish his armor), Sir Walter Harris Ignatius Sally Percival Edwardo Ramon Junior the Third, or Whisper as it was so beautifully signed, was also here, posing. Manny, the short one, was here too (though there was this eerie sense of dread that radiated off the small knight that he couldn’t push away, as if he was under some kind of scrutiny). The purple knight who stood in silence with his arms crossed, Achaka, was present as well (although he wished he could read whatever language it was that the purple knight had jotted down). All that left was the knight whose name left Number One constantly baffled (as well as utterly convinced it would be a prank were it not for the portrait) and rendered the Royal Guards into a useless pile of laughter every time his name was uttered: Graham Cracker. 

He frowned. “We’re missing one. Have any of you seen Graham?”

Acorn and Whisper shook their heads as Achaka remained stoic and silent. “Can’t say that we have, we’ve only seen each other since arriving here.” Manny spoke up as if perhaps on behalf of everyone.

“Whisper can go look!”

“Ahem, that’s… well intended, however that won’t be needed.” Number One looked to the knight standing to the side. “Thank you, good knight, you may leave.”

“Sir.” They saluted and left, leaving Number One with the Hopefuls. 

“Right then, I suppose I shall continue my message without him which is a shame since it is rather crucial.” Number One began, placing the file back under his arm. “Ah well. I’m sure you are all aware of the schedule for the Knights Tournament with Tuesday being the parade.”

“Of course! Whisper looks forward to meeting the masses!”

“Ugh…” Acorn rolled his eyes, clearly irritable from being around him all day.

“Yay.” Number One remarked dryly. “Anyways, there has been a change of plans due to unforeseen circumstances. The parade, as well as the tournament, will be held tomorrow, meaning today we will be commencing our first test which is the Chivalry Test.”

“What does that entail, exactly?” Manny asked, Number One tried pushing down the uncomfortable feeling of the short knight’s stare at his direction.

“Basically, you five… erm… four need to learn about one another. Once you do, come see me so I may test you on your knowledge. Any questions?”

The four looked at each other and shrugged, as the task seemed (obviously) simple enough for them to do. Number One made his way out of the room, allowing them the privacy to talk to one another as he took a seat in the kitchen and flipped once more through the names, information and portraits once more. After all, they weren’t the only ones learning about one another… the judge needed to know too.


	2. Chapter Two

Every year, the Knights Tournament was a long (if not exhausting) day filled with festivities. The king and queen would partake and welcome the new season to the masses before declaring for the tournaments to begin, the townsfolk would be celebrating and cheering for their Knight Hopeful to win while the streets would simply reek of various foods and drinks that would drown away the scent of fresh oak and lavender. Although there was some criticism of how it was handled, it was nevertheless a proud Daventry tradition that could be traced all the way back to its founding that one could not help but be swept up in the joyous occasion. 

That morning, Number One rose earlier than usual, mostly due to his mind working overtime with endless thoughts and worries knowing fully well that today was the day, the Knights Tournament. 

Making sure that his bed was fixed, his uniform clean of any paint and his mustache in place, he looked over at himself in the reflection, nodding in self approval he placed his helmet on and left his room, making sure to first and foremost check on His Majesty, wondering if he would be even able to partake… if he even wanted to now that the late queen was no longer with them. The more he thought about it, the more he was torn. On the one hand, it would do the king well to be outdoors, to be in the fresh autumn air, and yet on the other hand, he couldn't fault the king entirely for not being able nor wanting to. Approaching the doors leading to the king's chamber, the two guards that were keeping post did not need to say a word regarding permission, stepped aside, granting Number One entry inside. 

Taking a breath he stood straight and entered the dimly lit room where the nursemaids and doctor stood by, undoubtedly checking on His Majesty while brewing a new medicine. He stood by, waiting for either doctor or monarch to permit him to step closer. The doctor, an old looking gentleman, looked his way and then forward to the king, whispering something, only seeing the king's wrinkled hand wave permission. Number One clenched and unclenched his hands, releasing whatever uncertainty he had before pulling a front of professionalism, and stepped closer.

"Your Majesty." Number One greeted, taking a bow. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"I am… alright, I suppose." The king responded, his voice betraying the answer with his exhaustion. The old king turned his head to face the Royal Guard. "The tournament… that is today, yes?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." 

"Hm…"

"Sire, are you well enough to partake in today?" Number One asked, feeling like he already knew the answer to that one.

"I…" the king sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. "No, I do not think I'll be participating this year."

He hated being correct sometimes. "Understood, Sire." 

That meant that someone else would need to ring in the tournament, and that someone was most likely him. He could already feel the stress of everything regarding today creeping up on him like a clawed hand around his throat. 

"I am terribly sorry." The king apologized. 

"No, Sire. There is nothing to apologize for. Your well being is far more important than a tournament." Number One quickly brushed off his thoughts and apologies. "I'll make sure everything goes without a hitch, you just focus on getting well, Your Majesty."

At that, the king smiled just barely before going back to sleep. Number One looked to the doctor who sighed and stepped away from the sleeping monarch. 

"How is he? Truly?" Number One whispered. 

"He is alright, for now." The doctor answered. "But I would not count on that luck lasting for long. We will continue to keep our eyes and ears on His Majesty."

Number One nodded a thanks before turning to leave, going through the itinerary of things that needed to be done and go through. He needed to have that conversation with the Bridge Trolls as they were still, stubbornly, on their ludicrous strike, make sure the schedule was still held which meant visiting the Knight Hopefuls for the parade, stop by his office to pick up the knight files, see to it that the Royal Guards were up, fed and prepared for the tiring day that will undoubtedly happen and act as a judge for each othe trials. Number One sighed.

This was going to be a gruesome day in more ways than one.

\--------------------------

Number One was eternally grateful for Number Two when he saw him standing outside his office with two mugs in his hands filled with some highly caffeinated tea, as if to say that he too was fully aware of the daunting tasks at hand. 

"'Morning." Number Two greeted.

"Good morning to you too." He greeted in return, unlocking the door to allow the two in. 

Number Two swiftly placed the mugs on the table so he could take off his own helmet. "How'd you sleep?" 

"About as well as you'd expect." Number One took his helmet off and went to look for the knight files on his table. 

"So, barely, then?"

"Just enough to prevent me from falling off the horses." 

Number Two snorted and took a sip from his tea. "Did you have breakfast yet?"

"What are you, my mother?" Number One looked up. The glare from Number Two forced him to look back down. "No, I haven't. This is the first thing in my system since I woke. Which, by the way, I greatly appreciate."

"Always happy to assist as your personal assistant."

Number One rolled his eyes, but he knew that was just Number Two's way of saying 'you're welcome'. 

"So what's on the itinerary today?" He then asked, taking a seat adjacent to Number One. 

"First things first is making sure the other Royal Guards are up and taken care of. We also need to make sure the Knight Hopefuls themselves are also awake and ready for the parade, which, I should add, the king won't be attending the tournament this year." 

"He's not?" Number Two lower both mug and voice. "How is His Majesty?"

Number One sighed and shook his head. "Not good, but not gone from us."

"I see."

"So this means I need to be the one to announce the start of the tournament on behalf of the king… as well as judge the entire blasted thing."

"Well, you don't have to." 

Number One looked up. "What are you implying?"

"We can split the task between the two of us. You know, take turns to judge. I mean, let's be reasonable," Number Two placed the mug down, "you can't be in multiple places at once, that's unheard of."

"Well, not with that attitude." Number One snarked as he grabbed his tea to take a sip before sitting down in his own chair. "But go on."

"There are three trials, correct?"

"Five, technically." The first two were more ice breaker and process of elimination respectively, but that was semantics for another day. "Speaking of which, is the board ready?

"Yes, we just need the portrait and names of those that made it through." Number Two said. "But anyways, the way I see it, I can judge half and you can judge half. Split the load until the duel of wits."

"Hmm… that does sound rather tempting." He agreed. "Actually, let's go ahead and do that." Number One took another sip before going back at rummaging through his desk. He huffed in annoyance when he couldn't spot the files.

"What appears to be the problem now?"

"The blasted file on the knights, I can't find it." He whipped his had and pointed an accusatory finger at Number Two. "Don't you dare say I am being spaced out."

"These lips are sealed." Number Two said, taking a sip. "But perhaps it would help to remind you that you left it in the Theater when you made sure that Kyle and Larry had the sign hung just right?"

"I did what?"

"You heard me."

Number One sat in silence, recalling doing as such after meeting with the Knight Hopefuls, and rested his head on the table, hiding his face in embarrassment. 

"Bloody hell."

\--------------------------

The parade went, shockingly, without a hitch as he led the Knight Hopefuls through the kingdom of Daventry while Number Two rode from behind the parade. Occasionally he would glance over his shoulder to make sure that things were fine (and they were, thank the stars), noticing Whisper posing where he could, Manny waved to the trees (how odd, he thought), while Acorn and Achaka rode in silence, not waving to anyone or anything. It was unfortunate that the fifth Knight Hopeful never arrived on time, but he supposed things must have come up to prevent him from coming (although from the way the guards all moaned in disappointment during the morning announcement that he never showed up made it feel like chosen one abandoned them… but he had an inkling it had something to with them missing hearing his name), however the show had to go on. 

As the parade came to an end and they approached the Theater, Number One halted the March and stared ahead, dumbfounded. The bridge… the bridge that they commissioned the blacksmith (at quite the hefty price no less) the other day was gone. Missing. Vanished without a trace. And trapped on the other side was his files on the Knight Hopefuls. And once more, he was thankful that his helmet obscured his face, as he was certain that his left eye was twitching. He heard the sounds of footsteps of another horse walk near him, recognizing the tone of the person who cleared his throat.

"Erm, Number One?" Number Two spoke. "What's going on?"

"Look. In front of you, if you please, Number Two." Number one said, not breaking his gaze. "What appears to be the problem?"

Number Two looked. "It appears that the bridge is out."

"Yes. Yes it is, Number Two. Now, pray tell, where is the makeshift bridge that we had Ms. Amaya make for us yesterday? I recall us asking her to make one so we could go paint in the Theater yesterday." 

"It… appears to be missing."

"Correct again." He turned his head to face his second in command. "So tell me, what do you think is going on here?"

Number Two looked ahead, seeming to comprehend the frustration. "Oh." 

"An understatement of the century, Number Two." 

"We can ask Kyle and Larry what happened."

"Number Two, with all due respect, how in the bloody hell will those two know what happened?"

"Well, because they're on the other side waving at us."

"They're what?" He turned to face the Theater where, neatly stacked, were Kyle and Larry waving. He took a deep, deep breath and stared skyward, thinking of a few choice colorful words internally. 

"So, what should we do?" Number Two asked.

He stayed put for a moment, thinking of what to do when an idea sparked within him. "I have a plan." Number One quickly said, turning his steed around to face the Knight Hopefuls who were staying put with Manny mumbling to Achaka something or another. Number One cleared his throat and sat up straight so his voice could be heard "Gentlemen, an obstacle has arose. It is time to show us what you are capable of in times of distress!"

He watched them all look at one another, with Manny probably translating what was said to Achaka as the purple knight nodded in understanding and got off his steed along with the others. The four all went over to the ledge, trying to make heads or tails of the situation. While distracted, he got off his own horse and went to one of the guards and lowered his voice. "Go seek out Ms. Amaya and tell her we need a bridge. Urgently." He nodded as the guard saluted and rushed off to town without a moment's hesitation. He then went over to the other guards and pointed at the steeds. "Lead them to the stables in preparation for the duel of speed. And tell the guards at the town square to come here with rope, we will seal this place off until the blacksmith arrives." 

Once they left, he walked over to Number Two and explained the situation. All they had to do was wait. 

\--------------------------

The ropes arrived and the barrier was set, Number One stood by, waiting for the Knight Hopefuls to think of a solution to get past. Although, he knew it was an absolutely foolish endeavor since the actual solution involved a no nonsense blacksmith who demanded triple the price then what she had established the other day, but the Knight Hopefuls, in his opinion, did not need to know that, thank you very much. So much for his tight schedule, he sighed, but at least the weather was beautiful and tolerable that standing outside wasn't a complete nightmare (even if he wanted to rip his helmet off to enjoy the breeze).

It was then when the short lived tranquility was destroyed as from the distance he heard the sounds of stomping hooves and someone screaming at the top of their lungs. He was not nearly as energized as he should be to handle all of that racket. His confusion was short lived as a makeshift looking caravan pulled by two goats (at least, he could have sworn they were goats… they appeared to be wearing horns) came barreling from the woods, screeching into an unceremonious halt, he found himself holding his breath as he saw it teetered to and fro before finding its stability once again, allowing it to stand tall and only when it stopped wobbling did he exhale his captive breath. The driver, a short man with clothing that confounded him as he couldn't place a finger where he was from, nimbly hopped off his perch and climbed with ease to the otherside, unlocking a few of the various latches. He knew he wouldn't have been nearly as interested were it not for the fact that he was, in every sense of the word, standing around doing nothing. 

But what caught his attention was a thin looking young man, somewhat tangled in his illustrious red cape looking to be disoriented as he tripped over his own feet stumbling out of the caravan. The two had a quick conversation before the driver snapped the bridle and galloped away as the young man stood back and waved goodbye at his ride. 

There was something… familiar about the young man, but confound it all, he simply could not place a finger onto why. 

The young man sporting a feather cap and undoubtedly an overabundance of enthusiasm came his way, a grin wide on his face as he jogged over to him.

"Back away," Number One warned, "back away. This place is unsafe for commoners."

The young man stopped short just a few feet from him and tilted his head just slightly, eyeing between the guards, the knights, and the bridgeless sight. From beneath his own helmet, Number One raised a brow at what the gentleman was doing. The man, however, took a breath and smiled. "Hello, apologies I'm late."

Late? 

"I should be on the list." 

Realization was slowly dawning on him and Number One's eyes widened. No. Impossible! 

"First name Graham, last name--"

Oh stars, NOW he arrives?! He could hear the slight turn of the metallic helmet from Number Two, clearly invested in the conversation considering who Number One was talking to (and he could practically FEEL the ridiculous grin on his right hand's face, itching to inform the rest of the guards of the special guest that arrived). If this new Knight Hopeful was about to say his full name, all the guards in the area would simply lose it. And that would just not do.

"The list," Number One cut off quickly, "unfortunately, is inside the theater, which is across that bridge, which is inexplicably missing."

"We've ordered a temporary fix, but we are still sorting out the work order." Number Two added, deflated at not hearing Graham say his full name.

"Well, with all the recent budget issues, I remain skeptical about the repair." Number One stated dryly. 

The young man, Graham, looked passed Number One and pointed behind him. "Can't those knights check the list?"

Knights? Number One briefly looked over his shoulder to spot the stacked knights running back and forth, clearly working on leg day instead of properly patrolling (though he supposed there wasn't much that they COULD do on that side of the land). "You mean Kyle and Larry?" Number One remarked, "they're off duty." He saw Graham tilt his head once again, glancing back and forth between the two guards and himself. He sighed. "Don't ask."

"You needn't worry." Number Two then spoke, "These Knight Hopefuls will figure out a solution soon, and then we can carry on with the auditions."

"Well, but," Graham frowned, "I am a hopeful knight. If you just step aside, I'm confident I can find a way across."

His enthusiasm was nothing if not contagious, but even still, he couldn't let some child risk himself to solve a predicament that could really be resolved with either a blacksmith, or better yet, the bloody Bridge Trolls doing their blasted jobs. Number One cleared his throat. "Daventry Decree 6643 states that a royal guard, once commanded, must never, under no circumstances, abandon his post while on duty." 

"Well," Number Two's voice cut in as Number One side eye his second in command, "technically, Addendum 237A allows us to leave if someone is in distress and in need of assistance… of a life or death nature."

"I stand corrected." Number One remarked dryly. "And we wouldn't want a repeat of the Rubenstein Fiasco." He looked over at Graham who was eyeing between the guards and the knights eagerly. "A tardy auditionee, however, hardly counts for distress." Graham's shoulders sagged in defeat just slightly. "Sorry, but we can't leave our post. King's orders." 

Well, that wasn't entirely true. It was more his own order then it was the king's but it was an addendum that did exist because of the king. He saw Graham looking at them before stepping away and leaving them be, looking then to Number Two. "You really were trying to egg him on to say his name, weren't you?"

"Was it that obvious?"

"As obvious as these bridges being out."

"I can't believe he's here. Wait till the others hear."

"I personally can't believe he's real." Number One muttered under his breath and looked over by the river, spotting Graham walking towards it and then hopping on the slippery rocks. It will only take one slip up before he tumbled in there, he just knew it and the last thing he needed is yet another crisis. Still, it was his duty to keep everyone safe. He groaned. "Stay off those rocks! It's dangerous!" He shouted. Graham, the ridiculous youth, looked his way, stood up straight with one leg outstretched over the river, almost mocking his warning and flipped himself into the river.

If it weren't for the fact the river was drowning the youth, he could personally strangle him for additional stress he was inadvertently inflicting on him.

"Distress!!" Number One shouted, dropping the rope and running as fast as he could down the hill and towards the river where Graham was flailing to try and stay afloat. All he could think of was one, the mind numbing migraine he was sporting with all the chaos that was happening and two, the absolute audacity that this kid threw himself in the river when he couldn't bloody swim! Carefully, Number One shifted himself over the rocks, making sure to not slip in himself because, unlike Graham who couldn't swim at all, his armor would sink him to the bottom and he didn't have time to remove his equipment to dive in. Fortunately, because of the aforementioned flailing, Graham was able to keep himself just barely afloat and within range that Number One did not need to dive in after him. He leaned as close as he could and reached out, grabbing a fistful of cape and lifted him up with shocking but incredible ease. One would think that he would weigh more, but if anything, it was the cape that added the heaviness to it. 

Turning around and moving away from the rocks, Number One dropped him with an unceremonious splat to the ground as he walked over to the other guards, standing by and ready incase he fell too. "Learn how to swim, boy." Number One warned bitterly. 

"Thanks for saving me." Graham smiled even though he was soaked to the bone. 

An understatement to be sure, he thought. 

"You're welcome, lad." Number Two then spoke up, clearly ignoring the daggers Number One was sending his way. The absolute gall of him…!

With a tiny fist pump, Graham rushed off leaving the four guards alone. "He was talking to me." Number One spoke in a low tone. 

"I believe he was talking about me." Number Two retaliated. 

Number One's eye twitched from beneath his helmet. But before he could even argue how the assumption Number Two made was both false and absolutely ridiculous (as well as the fact that he did the deed of pulling the soggy teenager and not his second in command), from above the sky something shattered at all four of the guards' feet. Number One glanced down, wondering what it was that broke as things that usually broke didn't make such ominous humming sounds. In fact, it was usually the opposite. It would be silent. And from amidst the shattered remains, particles began to hover above, the humming growing louder and louder. 

Now that he thought really carefully about it, it was very clear what shattered: a bees nest. And flying out of the remains of the bees nest were the aforementioned bees, and rather infuriated bees at that. 

No, of course, this was exactly what he needed, he thought. Missing bridges, drowning teenagers and livid bumblebees. 

What happened next was a blur of yellow, black and silver as the guards all screamed in terror and rushed off into the river, trying to escape the painful stings of their assailants while also making sure none of them drowned in the river. From the corner of his eye he could spot Number Two unsheathing his blade and waving haphazardly at the air in a failed attempt to counter the flying insects. He would judge the decision of his second in command… were he not doing the exact same thing just a few minutes later.

\--------------------------

Having finished draining his boots of the water and talking to Amaya to rebuild the bridge (and failing to negotiate a price with her), Number One walked over to the podium where, to his relief and frustration, the missing files were placed exactly as he left it the other day. He was truly ready to speed things along as his patience and energy was slowly but surely deteriorating. Flipping through the note, he stumbled on Graham’s portrait and application, recalling the teenager mentioning he was late (he supposed he was telling the truth in the end) and looked up, spotting the missing Knight Hopeful looking around with stars in his eyes. 

Right then, time to act professional even though everything in his body was begging otherwise. “Graham, to the front of the stage, please!” He called out, catching the young man’s undivided attention as he rushed over to the stage. “Now that we have recovered our list, it is my duty to inform you that you are officially signed in. Yay.” Although it would have been more ideal if you showed up yesterday on time, he thought. “And I do want to apologize, I am very very terribly sorry, but we’ve run out of commemorative tote bags.” A gift, he once again thought, was absolutely ridiculous for them to have, but Larry and Kyle insisted that it would be a good mementos for those that will inevitably lose. Nothing like having an excellent reminder of your failures as a competitor then a commemorative tote bag.

Graham, who moments ago looked excited, sounded mildly wiped (if not irritated, no doubt nearly drowning would take it out of someone). “That’s not a problem,” Graham sighed, “I have no use for tote bags.” Oh, thank the shining stars. “My mother designed my cape with lots of pockets. Is the next event about to start?”

Did he hear him correctly? His mother designed that cape to have lots of pockets? No wonder he was drowning, all those pockets were absorbing the water. 

Number One mentally yelled at himself to pay once more attention. “Not so fast, pocket boy.” Graham looked to have raised a brow at the comment, but the Royal Guard truly did not care considering he had the absolute gall to ask about the next event even though he showed up an entire day late. “The tournament by-laws explicitly states that each contestant must complete every event before continuing on in the competition. Since you were late, you missed the Test of Chivalry and the welcoming parade.” He emphasized, acknowledging that Graham looked ashamed about the mishap. Perhaps, it would be wise to reel in the snark… for now. “Both designed as light-hearted warms up and getting-to-know-you type exercises.” Graham looked up, still embarrassed. “You know, an ice breaker.” At that, the teenager relaxed. “Before we start in on the usual death, destruction, and duels of a cutthroat nature.” 

“Don’t forget about Amendment 70, Article 4.” Number Two quickly blurted. 

Number One could strangle him. He knew what that Amendment was, it was a loophole that King Edward implemented one year when the Knight Hopefuls couldn’t arrive on time due to some freak weather. And it was apparent that Number Two was no longer hiding the fact that he (and all the other guards) so desperately wanted to see the name ‘Graham Cracker’ on the Tournament Board. “I was getting to that, thank you.” He snapped and took a breath. “In the spirit of equal opportunity, the new rules state that you can schedule a make-up Chivalry Test if, and ONLY if, the circumstances for your absence were extenuating.” Of this, he was nearly certain that, unless something happened like the death of a family member or kidnapped by goblins, his excuses would be laughable. Still, he knew to give the teen a chance to defend himself. “So, I will ask you, what were your extenuating circumstances that made you late for the tournament?” 

He watched carefully how Graham thought carefully of a justifiable excuse, or at least he hoped on his behalf that they were justifiable. Instead, the young Knight Hopeful looked up at him, smiling. “Well, my mom whipped up a stack of my special choco-chip pancakes, and she never lets me leave the house until I’ve finished all my breakfast.” 

Oh… stars. He could feel his lips twitching, the laughter in his chest bubbling more and more, ready to burst. “Mmmhmm….” Number One swallowed the urge to laugh right then and there in the teen’s face, “I’ll just pencil in ‘Mommy’s boy’.” He could hear Number Two choke a laugh and truth be told, he could not fault him. He wished Graham off, to go and get to know the other knights as he walked over to Number Two whose shoulders were shaking. “Heaven help me, I’m going to lose it.” Number One whispered through choked laughs. 

“I know, me too. I’m so happy he showed up.” Number Two whispered though it was apparent he was simply grinning from underneath his helmet. “This is going to be such an amazing Tournament, I can feel it and I know you can too.”

“Zards.” Number One placed a hand over his mouth (or at least where it would be from beneath the helmet). “Listen, I’m going to finish the test with him, can you take up the next part which is the eye of the hideous beast, please? I’m going to cry laughing.”

Number Two nodded as Number One patted his shoulder and went back to his podium, watching Graham run around the Theater. When the teen came back, and shockingly getting all the answers correct in one go (something that only Manny was able to do last night), Number One grabbed his files and stepped aside where no one could see him, allowing Number Two to take to the stage as the Knight Hopefuls all lined up in position, listening attentively. “Now, let’s officially commence the competition part of the tournament.” Number Two began. “I do hope you’ve all made friends, ‘cause it’s about to get nasty.” He wouldn’t have personally worded it like that, but he knew that Number Two was just as excited about this as the Knight Hopefuls were. “The time has come to collect your entrance tickets.”

“Ah! Oh! Over here!” 

Oh. Good. Heavens. Number One looked over at the line of knights, spotting the teenager flailing his arm waving some sort of cloth in his hands. “What in the blazes is he doing?” Number One muttered under his breath.

“Over here! I got mine right here!” Graham grinned, looking pleased as punch with himself. 

“I’m sorry, I really am,” Number Two immediately intervened, sparing Number One from having to do so, “but that is not an entrance ticket. In fact, from up here it looks like a sweaty piece of cloth.”

Oh stars… oh stars! Number One slapped a hand over his mouth, the bubble of laughter reaching an all time high as Number Two casually dragged out what the bizarre fabric in Graham’s hand was. He felt himself snorting as Graham’s face turned a nice shade of red with embarrassment. 

“Probably just a snot rag.” Number Two slammed the final nail in the coffin as Number One bursted out laughing, unable to contain himself. Did that boy really bring that in and thought it was a ticket? Who was the trickster that convinced him it was one?! The other guards laughed alongside him, but he simply had to leave the Theater out of fear that he would appear to be more unprofessional than he already was, laughing the whole way out.

\--------------------------

The commotion amongst the guards was high as they all had their own pick of which knight they wanted to win (some even placed bets). Word was in favor of the purple knight, Achaka, as he radiated the demeanor of someone who was calm and in control, while others were becoming fans of Whisper (even if he rambled for far too long). Acorn and Manny names were chattered about, but nothing more than curiosity how they would tackle the duels. Graham’s name, however, was the talk of the town from both guards and villagers, either because it was a truly hilarious name or because of the kind hearted impression he left on them (though the blacksmith and elderly couple would argue that it left a poor impression). Number One couldn’t say, but he would be lying if he didn’t admit that the young teen did in fact leave an impression on him.

One of the guards came rushing back into the Theater, informing the others that the Knight Hopefuls were on their way back from their first task. 

“Who exactly?” Number One ordered.

“Acorn and Whisper.” The guard began, “I saw them zooming about and placing traps. Manny is also another based on the reports of the Hobblepotts.”

“What about Achaka and Graham?” Number Two asked.

“Erm… about that. They were both seen heading towards the well.” The guard hesitated.

“The well?!” Number One and Two shouted in unison. 

“Isn’t that the place rumored to have a dragon in there?”

“Oh yeah, the fire breathing one, correct?”

“I heard it was goblins.”

Number One looked around, seeing the guards in commotion and then back to the reporter. “Did the two of them make it out together?” His heart dropped when he saw them shake their head slowly no. “Did… either of them make it?” A small nod. “Who?” He chose to ignore the whispers of it being possibly Achaka.

“It was Graham, sir. He was the only one to come out of the cave alive.” The guard continued. They didn’t proceed until Number Two gestured with a hand to continue. “The… the townsfolk are speaking of smelling…. sulfur.”

The Theater fell silent for a brief moment as all of them looked and mumbled to one another about the fact that there was, in fact, a dragon in the well. Number One stayed quiet, trying to process the news. Graham survived the encounter with a dragon? What happened to Achaka? Wasn’t he the one in favor to win? No. Focus. Still… he was having a hard time grasping the news, how could someone, a teenager at that, digest it? He took a deep breath to recompose himself. “Right then. We will… continue as planned. This is just the way things are in the Knights Tournament.” Number One spoke, loud and clear. “What is the estimated time of the Knights’ arrival?”

“Less than five minutes.”

“Alright, everyone, in position!” Number Two ordered. He looked over to Number One and lowered his voice. “Are you alright?”

“I… will be. These kinds of news are never really easy.”

“I know.”

Number One stood at the stage, watching the remaining knights come back in. Three of them came in looking confident, proud. But Number One’s gaze (as well as everyone else in the Theater) was all on Graham. It was odd how just hours ago, he was a metaphorical ray of sunshine, bursting with energy and zeal as he made his presence known. The townsfolk adored him (for one reason or another) and he had easily won over the Royal Guards. But here, it felt like an entirely different person. The smell of syrup and fresh tree was overpowered by a wet mildew and sulfur, the light in his eyes, while still there, was undoubtedly more dim then it was a moment ago. His shoulders were sagging far more than when he was humiliated by both Royal Guard Number Two and himself. That eager smile was… gone.

He wished he could ask, to understand what happened, but the tournament had to go on. Number One went on with his ill prepared speech, explaining that this was just the way things were in Daventry, that he and everyone else were fully aware of the criticism the tournament had received over the course of time. He stood front and center, eyeing them all, and demanded to see their eyes.

Unsurprising to him, Acorn held a wedzel wolf by its tail as it wiggled and growled in anger. Manny pulled out a jar full of eyes (that he undoubtedly got from the Hobblepotts, he knew the two had a tendency of intervening). Whisper surprised him as he pulled out two purple looking eyes proudly over his head, he heard the guards murmur to each other how impressive that he got the elusive snarling snarlax. But Graham… he looked simply out of it as he dug mindlessly into his cape and pulled out a striking orange and yellow eye. He watched how Graham glanced at it before holding it barely out, as if it wasn’t the most impressive thing he pulled from his many pockets, he watched how Graham’s expression went from lifeless… to frustrated. 

He heard the two guards on the floor talking about how they would have been more happy to have that eye to present. Number One continued his speech, congratulating them for being able to fetch the eyes before telling them all to follow him and Number Two to the King’s Glen where the Tournament Board was. The march was, for the most part, shockingly quiet (it would have been absolutely quiet were it not for Whisper bragging how he could have made laps around them with absolute ease at the pace they were walking). Once there, Number One and Number Two stood besides the board, seeing the knights all lineup once more waiting to hear what they had to say next.

“Now it’s time for my favorite part of the tournament: the duels!” Number Two laughed, trying to shake off the gloom the fallen knight left on everyone. “You will compete against each other in a Duel of Strength and a Duel of Speed, with the winners facing off in a Championship Duel of Wits.” 

He was truly thankful that Number Two spoke up, as he truly did not know what else to say. “The pairings of the knights were selected at random. So no complaining.” He turned his head at the shiniest knight between the four. “I’m looking at YOU, Whisper.”

Whisper’s head, at that, snapped at Number One’s way, but before he could argue, Number Two spoke up. “Any ties will be settled in a sudden death. The winner, of course, will gain the knight’s position.”  
The two decided to ignore Graham’s slight wince at the mention of death. They continued on with the speech of where to go and what to bring, with Number Two offering to stay put by the board if any of them had a question. As the knights dispersed, it left the two guards alone, Number One let out a sigh. “This day just simply keeps on going...”

“Tell me about it.” Number Two agreed. “So where are you heading?”

“I’ll be heading to the Floating Islands, Larry and Kyle offered to judge the Duel of Speed.” He looked over at his second in command who moaned that he was being left behind. “I told you taking the bet against Larry and Kyle for the judge position was a foolish idea. I warned you several times.”

“I know and it was…” Number Two sighed dejectedly. “Anyways, best you get going. Who knows who you’ll get to witness.”

“There are only so many options.” He snarked.

“Speaking of which, are you sure you randomized it?”

“Of course I did, I even did the whole pull a paper blindly from a helmet that YOU suggested I do.”

“Hmmm…” Number Two glanced at the board, noting that Graham was going up against Whisper in speed and Acorn in strength. “If you say so.”

“I do say so. I’ll see you at the Duel of Wits.”

“Toodles~”

Number One rolled his eyes from under his helmet.

\--------------------------

If there was one thing that was truly beyond his own control, it was the lackluster ‘floating’ fantastical island. Over the course of time, the island’s ability to stay afloat was slowly deteriorating as each year they noticed that it sank lower and lower. By Edward’s order, they were able to put up a crutch of sorts to keep the island afloat until they could figure out how to resolve the descending island’s issue, but a solution never came. Not even the Hobblepotts could figure out what was wrong with the island, though they would argue that these kinds of things were beyond their specialties (a statement that Number One was convinced was a semi lie). Still, the crutch did its job of preventing the floating island from becoming a regular island while they tried to think of solutions and that, in Number One’s eyes, was enough.

The duels, at least the Duel of Strength, went off without a hitch for the most part. Manny managed to trip up Whisper by using his own strength against him and side stepping with ease at just the right moment and according to one of the guards, Graham had beaten Whisper in the Duel of Speed (by unusual means, which spoke nothing about the steed the teen rode which became the hot new topic amongst the guards as to whether it was a gerbil, a capybara, a hamster or some weird bizarre hybrid of the bunch). 

He wished he could have seen the steed himself. 

Acorn arrived soon enough, taking up both boats to carry himself and his fuzzy companion. He didn’t really have a snide remark to make as to why he needed both (as he should have, at least, left one for Graham), but he was patient enough to wait considering the teen was going to have to find some way to get across. This, he thought, would be a good test on the kid’s problem solving skills. Not too long, Graham had arrived, spotting the island hovering in the distance, his expression dropped as it was obvious that he was expecting the island to, well, float. According to his files, Number One recalled, the boy is not a local of Daventry, he was from a faraway place called Llewdor (which THAT could have been an excuse, not the blasted pancakes in his opinion) so he no doubt was expecting to see one of the many fantastical elements of Daventry.

Something like, say, Bridge Trolls, which would have been more ideal than to use boats to get to a floating island, Number One grumbled to himself.

He could see Graham calculate, look between the distance and lack of transportation, the horn that would normally summon the Bridge Trolls and his shoulders sagged for only a brief moment before his eyes lit up, as if an idea was sparked in him. Graham rushed off from sight, leaving Number One and Acorn alone on the floating island. Neither of them had anything to say to one another, partially because Acorn was very curt and threatening with his answers and also because Number One himself felt just as short tempered as the hulking knight. 

The awkward silence lasted about an hour (if that) before Graham came back running, a grin on his face. It was a relief to see the teen smiling instead of sporting that frustrated glare, but that was something Number One decided to keep to himself. He watched as Graham moved over to the horn, curious what young Knight Hopeful had in mind before digging into his pocketed cape. Both Acorn and Number One tilted their heads slightly when from out of the pocket, Graham pulled out what looked to be a mouth piece that belonged to the horn.

Wait. What?!

Number One’s jaw dropped, how in the high heavens did HE get a hold of the mouthpiece?! None of his guards could find any of those blasted things and yet here was Graham pulling it out like it was just another prop. He heard the loud blow of the horn, clearly the correct mouthpiece as it sounded proper, and with it he felt the ground tremble (a feat that he found fascinating considering he was standing on a literal semi-floating island). From behind the mountains, the Bridge Troll known as Olfie came storming out, a grin on his face as he spotted the lanky teen who was waving at him. All poor Number One had was more questions than answers: did Graham befriend the Bridge Troll? If so, how? If not, were they always friends? How did he find the mouthpiece? Why did he NOT bring up the missing mouth piece to either him or literally ANY of the guards? He listened as yet another horn was blown, a different one that belongs to the more violent one of the bunch, Pillare. And much like Olfie, she showed up and placed herself down, but not before complaining about being interrupted from her snack. 

Just how on Earth…?!

All the questions halted as Graham rushed over the bridge and towards Number One, panting just a little to catch his breath. “Hello there!” Graham greeted.

Number One had to recompose himself. “Are you ready to begin?” He asked, though he desperately wanted to ask the previous questions he had.

“Um…” Graham pondered and scratched his head. “What exactly are the rules?”

A rationale question, he thought. “The rules are simple, for a change. If you stay dry, you win.”

He eyed Graham who looked around the floating island, able to piece that it was a game of chicken and nodded. “I’m ready, let’s do this.” 

“Alright.” Number One placed his hands behind his back and looked up, spotting the other guards all eager to see how the duel played out. “Let the Duel of Strength commence!”

With that announcement, he quickly made his way up one of the poles to judge from afar. It went about as well as he would imagine. Compared to the sheer size of Acorn, Graham was hardly a challenge for the knight who was kicking his legs to stop himself from being so effortlessly pulled, although he had to give him some level of credit for at least trying to stop the bigger knight. This, he imagined, would be where Graham’s winning streak came to an end as he witnessed Acorn lift him up high over his head and toss him off the island. Yep. Typical way to end. At least… that would have been the proper response.

Instead, Graham rose high on Pillare’s back, standing confidently before hopping off and back to the island. The guards all yelled how that was cheating, that he should have lost, but the rules as he said were simple: he needed to get wet to lose. And he wasn’t wet, ergo, Graham was still very much in the duel. He watched Graham sneak up from behind, grabbing what looked to be a ball of yarn, and like a cat finding a new toy, he took hold of it and started yanking on it, as if to hope to pull Acorn over to him so he can be flung in the water. How absolutely foolish, Number One thought. All it did was alert the bull of a knight of his presence and anger him, tugging at the yarn which slammed Graham right into his massive belly. The pushing began again and, once more, Graham was flung off the island, although this time Number One noted that the teen’s foot got tangled in the yarn which was probably what saved him from the watery depth (although, the more he thought about it, perhaps this was a poor idea considering he witnessed the teen’s inability to swim).

A loud horn was heard once again, the third horn. The one belonging to Waddles. Number One gritted his teeth in frustration. Not because the Bridge Trolls were summoned, there wasn’t a rule against it. But because it was that Graham was the one to have found the horns to summon them. He made a mental note to chew the teen out as to how he did it, whether or not he wins the Tournament. 

Once more, Graham rose to the occasion on Waddle’s back, the yarn ball tucked neatly under his arm and proceeded to try and pull Acorn off the ledge. And once more, Acorn grabbed the poor teen and threw him off the ledge. And, frustratingly so, the horn sounded off once more. 

Stars above, this was getting ridiculous. He was ready to shout an addendum to wrap up this duel but when he saw Graham tugging at the yarn, he realized he wasn’t trying to pull Acorn, not by a longshot, instead he was pulling out more and more yarn until…

A sock came out. It was beautifully crafted, but far too large and it came flopping out from Acorn. It caught Number One and everyone off, well, off guard. That was the last thing any of them were expecting to see be revealed since they heard rumors of the squirrel that he brought along (he even had the misfortune of meeting her just this morning when he mistook her for a rat and invoked Acorn’s wrath). The surrounding guards all remained silent, staring at the crafted sock, unsure of what to say. After all, what COULD they say? That it sock’d that this duel was dragging on for too long?

“Psst…”

Number One’s skin felt like it was beginning to crawl at the sound of the mysterious voice.

“Now is the time for the laughing and the ridicule.”

As if on command, all the guards bursted out laughing, pointing fingers at the hulking knight, some unable to catch their breaths as Graham pulled the sock closer and began flailing his arm to remove the sock from his person. It was… admittedly a bit hilarious if only because of the contrast of this tiny kid running for his life while a massive behemoth of a knight was charging at him over… over a sock. He watched how Graham (whether or not intentionally), tricked Acorn into running his head into one of the poles, knocking it loose and with it one of the guards who proclaimed as they fell that it was still funny.

Another guard that was knocked loose screamed out that it was worth it.

Number One couldn’t help but snicker, although it was short lived as he felt his pole rattle something fierce. He heard the ropes snapping and before he knew it, he was no longer attached to the island and yet… he was still giggling, probably because of the shock, frustration and exhaustion. “Sorry I’m not sorry!” Number One shouted before collapsing into the water.

He gasped for air and grabbed onto a nearby raft where another guard was gripping on to. They all looked up, glimpsing for a moment the island in all of its splendor floating high above. It was… truly fantastical.

But it was short lived as before he knew it, the island toppled and flung poor Graham high up into the air like a catapult while Acorn slammed into the water unceremoniously. Number One let out an audible gasp as he watched the red cape wonder fall back to terra firma, screaming along the way. Nevermind the impact and how painful that would be, but suppose Graham makes it in one piece, he would certainly drown. His heart dropped. What could he do? What could he do!? His mind was frantically thinking of all that he could do when he heard those familiar thunderous footsteps rushing before diving down, acting as a small patch of land for the young Knight Hopeful to fall on.

“By the stars, Graham won.” One of the guards realized.

The more he thought about it, the more they were right. True, landing on Olfie’s bricked bridge back was going to, at least, give a few bruises on the poor kid, however, he did stick to the rules of staying dry while Acorn… Acorn was drenched. “Huh. I suppose he did.” Number One agreed.

However, before he could make an official declaration, he found himself swimming for his life with his fellow guards away from the angry and (probably) blood thirsty Bridge Troll known as Pillare after one of the guards had (in her opinion, the audacity) to look to Olfie and demand to have lift from the watery depths.

He made a mental note that he would lecture that guard the lesson of shutting one’s mouth in the presence of Pillare. 

\--------------------------

With both Duel of Strength and Duel of Speed completed, the two final knights to go off against each other in the Championship Duel of Wits were going to be Manny and Graham. Word was spreading on how the young teen was most likely going to be the victor, some even hoping that would be the case as they would love to see his presence (and name) as part of King Edward’s court. This was all well said and done were it not for the makeshift bridge being missing.

Again.

Number One rubbed the bridge of his nose. How? How could the two makeshift bridges go missing? On the same day?! He was going to throttle someone, that much was certain. But that was far from the worst part. The worst part was standing (well, towering would be a proper description) over him holding onto their suspenders clearly upset was Waddles, the head of the Bridge Troll Guild. 

“Please, I am begging you here, just do your job and act as a bridge!” Number One ordered, his patience running on fumes. “We have only one duel left and the only thing stopping it is the lack of bridges, as in you and your guild, to permit it to happen.”

“And I’m telling you that we are no longer going to blindly listen to your orders!” Waddles argued, though his tone had more a softness to it than Pillare’s rhetoric. “The tension between the bridge troll guild and the royal guards is at an all time high, and we need to come to an agreement soon.”

He took a breath, really desperately trying to keep his own composure because yes, he was partially right that they needed to come to an agreement sooner than later as on the other side was supposed to be the finale of the tournament. “You bridges need to stop stonewalling us and give us your demands.” Number One countered.

“We need you to watch your step when crossing our backs. Give more respect to the giant whose shoulders you're stomping on.”

It was, rationally, a simple request. If he thought about it for only a moment logically. But right now, in the moment, he reeked something terribly, his feet was killing him, he would pay anyone a literal arm and leg to be permitted to rip off his helmet if only to escape the confines of the humidity that was going on inside, he had to deal with missing bridges, missing attendees, drowning teens, bees and Pillare’s vengeance. Having Waddles here not willing to put aside a debate for AFTER the tournament riled Number One’s metaphorical feathers something fierce, as rationale was simply not on his side today. “Well, we need you to stop complaining and get back to work!” 

Waddles frowned. “We’re sick of getting walked all over.”

Number One’s eye twitched.

“You’re just looking at the problem from your perspective. We all have to work together.”

“The problem,” he snapped, “is that there are no bridges. You’re a bridge and you’re not doing your job.”

“Aw jeez…” Waddles rubbed his temple, clearly frustrated with the lackluster negotiation. 

As luck would have it, from the corner of his eye, Number One spotted the feather capped teen walking over, looking between the two of them. Of course, the head of the Royal Guards cursed, the one time Graham decides to show up on time and it’s the one time that the bridge is not prepared.  
“Um… I couldn’t help but hear a little bit of the argument…” Graham spoke softly, eyeing between Number One and Waddles. 

“Not now, Graham…” Number One moaned. “I have no time to listen to additional options. We need these bridges to get back to work.”

Graham frowned, eyeing Waddle who was simply shaking his head. Before Number One could tell the young knight to step away and say something he will truly regret, Graham dug into his cape and pulled out the familiar rainbow crafted socks belonging to Acorn, this time as a pair. “Here.” Graham mumbled shyly. 

Number One, with a brow raised, took the socks into his hands. “For me?” He looked how Graham smiled and nodded his head. He looked back at his own sharpy and pointy boots and slipped the socks on with shocking ease. He was caught off guard by the plush feeling. “Oh, they feel like I’m walking on a cloud.” He sighed in relief, “And the craftsmanship, stunning.” Number One pondered for a moment, realizing that the teen might have come up with a solution to the current Bridge Troll problem. An idea sparked and he looked at Graham, knowing fully well who made these socks. “Can you order one pair for the rest of the Royal Guards?”

“It does look soft…” Waddles frowned, “but that’s not accounted for in your mandate.”

He forgot that of all the Bridge Trolls, Waddles was the only one who made the effort to keep up with the rules of the Royal Guards. “I could create an addendum for that.” Number One pointed out. “We could still sharpen our boots and march as we wish, but these socks would protect you.”

“Ah geez, that would be the best!” Waddles smiled. “A real compromise we could all live with.”

“I think that’s exactly what you should do.” Graham spoke up, sounding hilariously confident. Number One couldn’t help but snort at the bravado.

“Thanks Graham, the guild will never forget this. See you at the next meeting.” Waddles waved to Graham before going over to his position as a proper bridge.

Number One stood by, watching him fall into formation and then turned his head to the teen who looked pleased that he was able to resolve the dispute. “A meeting with the bridge trolls?” Number One inquired, catching on how Graham was able to grab hold of the missing mouthpieces in the first place. When he saw him flinch, stumbling to find an answer, Number One shook his head. “No matter, no need to tell me now, but I do expect an answer after the tournament. Whether or not you win.”

“Yes, sir.” Graham mumbled.

\--------------------------  
The miniature version of Duel of Wits was set in place with Manny seating on one side of the board and the chair across him remaining empty. Everyone slowly flocked to the Theater to see the finale of this year’s tournament, including this time the townsfolk, eager to see who will be the lucky knight to join in the ranks of King Edward’s court (and possibly be the next heir). One would think there would be a buzzing energy of excitement, to see how this would play out, but instead there was an absurd amount of tension that everyone was practically quiet. 

Larry and Kyle, still stacked on top of each other, stood to one side of the stage while Number One and Number Two stood to the other, the three of them acting as the judges to the final duel. 

Graham eventually showed up, his energy having fled him as he walked towards the stage as opposed to sprinting. He looked to the guards, wondering if they had anything to say to him, but all that could be said was to take a seat, as the game was fairly simple. Well, simple for those who KNOW how to play the game. It was one of those games that Number One could never bother learning as he would constantly forget how the knights were rotated or in the last minute would completely blank out that he could rotate his own archer, but he knew that it required a lot of thinking, patience… a perfect game for a duel of wits.

Although, he deep down wished Manny didn’t remark to Graham how he noticed it was a take home version. With the Magical Chest missing, it made budget constraints an absolute living nightmare for him, but the short knight didn’t need to know about the logistics. As far as he was concerned, it was just as good as the regular version.

He stood by as Manny explained the game to Graham, who paid attention to his every word (though word between the guards was that there was some sort of alliance between the two of them, and during his exam, Graham blindly remarked the Manny was his friend so there could very well be validity to the rumors). Number One zoned out for a moment, knowing all he needed to do was see who shot whose archer first to be declared the winner when Manny’s voice snapped him out of his trance. 

“Guards!” The short knight shouted, “The raisin juice!”

The what now? He looked and saw one of the guards march over, placing down a tray of three identical cups containing the aforementioned juice. Number One looked over to Number Two, wondering if there was an explanation to what was going on, but his right hand could only shrug a response. The two then looked over to Kyle and Larry who returned the same gesture quickly before looking back at the two knights. Manny uncorked a vial filled with something, giving a light tap to one of the cups before corking it back up. “Mix it up, please?” He requested, watching the guard rapidly move the three cups around before it fell back to its original place. Number One had to blink his eyes, what just happened?

He watched Graham and Manny raise a toast before taking a sip, was this something also a part of their alliance? His question was short lived as Graham placed the cup down and started to sway in place, suddenly looking to be dizzy. Something in the back of Number One’s mind was screaming that something was wrong, something happened. By seeing how pleased Manny looked, it felt like some sort of a trap, but he couldn’t place his finger on to it. Perhaps Graham was finally succumbing to his exhaustion? That was a plausible thought. But all it took was seeing Manny point towards a part of the board and Graham lifelessly followed. He eyed Kyle and Larry, knowing those two have been following Graham the entire time of the tournament and noticed they looked tense, ready to jump in.

“Sir.” Number Two whispered.

“I know, I’m watching.” Number One whispered back.

It continued for a moment until it clicked to Number One was happening: Graham was hypnotized. And Manny was setting him up for a fall to win with the placements of the toy guards. It didn’t take long for Graham’s eyes to blink back into focus, as if waking up from a sudden nap.

“We have to do something, Graham is going to lose!” Larry hissed. 

“Hold your place.” Number One ordered, watching the hypnosis slowly wear off. He watched the teen eye the board, slight panic washing over him as he looked to have no recollection of what had happened. He glanced at Number Two, his feet twitching ready to rush over and purposely mess the game up. It was… a tempting thought. But to his surprise, Graham’s brows furrowed as he began to click on the guards into place, watching Manny eye his every movement. It was an absolute longshot for Graham to somehow win after being set up like this, but not improbable. The game surprisingly carried on as Graham was able to shift the metaphorical table, backing Manny into a corner, there was a slight smirk from the corner of the teen’s lips as he pushed his archer into position to take the blow. 

He didn’t need to be told, but he could feel everyone’s breaths (including his own) being held as Manny’s head looked over the board, finding a way out.

“The kid’s got this…!” Number Two muttered.

“I don’t believe this…” Number One gawked as Graham slammed his archer’s head and watched the arrow fly, piercing Manny’s archer and knocking the head clean off.

None of them could move, all of them stared in dumbfounded silence.  
“I did it…” Graham’s smirk grew more and more into that smile Number One saw that morning, his hands in the air in victory as he let out a laugh. “I did it! Guards, I’m ready for Decree 3214.6 and a half!” 

Actually, it might be Decree 1.21, Number One thought. Still, he couldn’t help but feel proud of the teen for both winning and shockingly knowing the Decrees. 

Manny, however, looked to be steaming in his suit. “You’re out of the alliance!” He shouted (zards, he knew that meant Kyle lost the bet to Number Two), “I can’t lose to you… How about another challenge? We only got to square off in the duel of wits!” Manny stood up, his voice lowering. “A well rounded gentleman would win in a duel of strength, as well!” He brandished out his mace, aiming it directly at Graham’s face who leaned back in fear.

The guards all looked to Number One whose hand was already at the hilt of his sword, ready to unsheath and fight back the short knight when Amaya’s voice cut through and grabbed everyone’s attention.

“Graham, take this!” She shouted, holding out a dagger. He had no recollection of any of the villagers coming to the stage (in fact, he was pretty certain that they stood at a safe distance from the flying toy arrows). Besides her were the Hobblepotts, eagerly shaking their own make shift toys as if taunting Graham to pick them over the blacksmith and next to them was Wente, the friendly baker that the Royal Guards knew to avoid unless they wanted to be either squeezed by hugs or have their armor smell of bread for a month, holding out a custard pie. It was comical, really.

Number One eyed Graham, who looked back at Manny and casually swatted the mace away to pull out a gold coin. “How nice, before his face gets smashed in, he’s going to pay one of the three townsfolk for their craft.” Number One snark to Number Two who let out a small snort. “Regardless, be on guard.”

“Sir.” Number Two’s hand went to his own sword’s hilt, noting Larry and Kyle following suit.

With a flick of the coin, Graham tossed it towards Wente, nearly causing Number One to shout how there was a dagger which would prove to be more effective. To his absolute shark, Graham took hold of the pie and stood ready against Manny. The shorter knight began swinging, somehow being deflected with ease by the tin of the pie, a low growl could be heard from the Manny who tried a few more times before Graham stood back, eyeing the pie and then his friend, extending the pie out (offering it as a token most likely). Manny, in turn, lifted his mace up, ready to cave the poor teen’s skull in when in a blur the pie slammed hard into the shorter knight’s face, flinging him clean off the stool.

“Holy cow…” Number Two mumbled, removing his hand from his hilt. 

Number One, however, still had it placed… just in case. To the surprise of no one, Manny rose back up, hacking the custard from his face. “Okay…” he wheezed, “one more challenge. How would you fare in a duel of speed?”

Oh for the love of…! Number One removed his hand from his hilt, ready to tell Manny that this was far enough, that this was the end of the tournament.

“No, Manny. It’s over!”   
What? He looked and saw Graham, a look of determination gracing him.

“Just as the battle isn’t always claimed by the strong, and the race isn’t always won by the swift, sometimes the intelligent falter.” Graham spoke, his voice unwavering and stern. “And I think now is my chance. And now is my time!” 

“C’mon Graham, one more duel? For… Achaka?”

Number One saw Graham flinch at the purple knight’s name, a brief flash of pain in his eyes at the mere mention. 

“Do it for the village of starving Pitch three-ans!” Manny pleaded.

“Whoa whoa whoa whoa… wait.” Graham put a hand up, halting the shorter knight. “You said his village was home to the Itch-two-ans.” His brows furrowed. “What exactly is your plan here? Cause I’m starting--”

“Duel of SPEED!” Manny screamed out, leaping off to a nearby snoot and storming off. Number One looked at Graham who pushed himself off from the table to begin the chase when Kyle and Larry moved swiftly over to place a hand on the young knight, stopping him from pursuing (he saw his shoulders sag).

“Some kind of friend, am I right?” Number Two remarked. 

“An understatement, to be sure.” Number One replied. He walked over to where the three were and then to the audience, clearing his throat. “This year’s Knight Tournament is officially over, we have our winner! Graham Cra--” He heard the guards snickering and growled, “G-Graham!”

The crowd in the Theater let out a cheer, clearly happy that it’s over and the afterparty celebration could properly begin. As they all began to line out, Number One let out a sigh of relief. The Bridge Trolls were taken care of, the tournament was properly wrapped up and he could finally take a nice long bath and pretend to not hear anyone for the next twelve hours before he has to properly introduce the winner to King Edward.

That… that was doable. 

“We… what?” Graham snapped out of his trance, reverting back to his deer in torchlight expression as he looked to Number One. “Wait, it’s over?”

“Yes, I do believe that’s what I just declared and the Theater is getting gradually more and more empty. Congratulations, Pockets.” Number One answered, extending his hand out for a handshake.

Graham stared for a moment, clearly not processing it was real but still shook his hand, looking up at him with those eager eyes of his.

“I look forward to working with you.” Graham smiled.

“Yippie.”


	3. Chapter Three

“Thank you again for the lecture, Sir. And might I say once again thank you for allowing me to join the Royal Guards.” The newly appointed Royal Guard Number Three looked to be brimming with enthusiasm as she gave the proper salute his way. 

“Yes, well, as much as I appreciate the praise, you really don’t need to repeat yourself after every session.” Number One pointed out. “A simple salute will suffice.”

“Oh, right. Of course. My apologies, Sir!” Number Three saluted once more.

He managed to suppress his urge to scoff as it has been a while since he heard or felt some form of enthusiasm. He couldn’t truly mock her either as she not only passed both physical and written exams to join the Royal Guards with flying colors, but was someone that Graham could recall as ‘the smiling guard’ when Number One went through the list of potential candidates. That had to count for something, he figured. With her selected and properly indoctrinated, Number One saw to it personally to train her (and thanked the shining stars he did not need to reiterate things to her). “Right, helmet back on and standby until further instructions.”

“Yes, sir!”

Number One made a mental note to tell her she didn’t need to shout out her answers at all times and went down his list of things that needed to be done: With Number Three’s training done for the day, as well as King Graham’s tutoring, all that was left to do was to check with the other Royal Guards, see to it regarding the sudden increase of rain water leaking into the castle and… zards, there was something else. What was it? It had to be something important, otherwise why else would it be on his list of things that needed to be done?

He sighed. It wasn’t always like this, he thought. He recalled a time where at most it was to make sure the King and Queen were on schedule and the castle walls were protected, but once the Queen passed, his duties evolved, especially so after the latest tournament. Initially it was just introducing the champion of the Knights Tournament to King Edward and then giving said winner a crash course on all things about proper etiquette and the history of Daventry (disregarding that the young knight from Llewdor insisted that he did know a few things about the land he will be protecting, travel books in Number One’s eyes hardly constituted as truly informational). A simple, if not exhausting, responsibility. And while it was a hard first year, he was surprised at how Graham quickly picked up on things as from there he was shortly sent off to retrieve the missing treasures (he was further shocked when Graham returned a little less than twenty four hours, all three items in tow), but once the dust had settled, before he could exhale, he could feel the ground metaphorically shift from beneath him as the wagon he was locked in began its descent downhill quickly and unforgivingly. 

The king’s health started to deteriorate rapidly without warning when Graham returned, the light in the old king’s eyes fading more and more with each passing day. The castle, which had already been drowning in misery and sorrow from the loss of the late Queen, was replaced with dread and tension, as all of those that had worked and lived in the castle could feel the winds of change, yet no one uttered a word out of fear of speeding up the process of the monarch’s end. 

Number One especially kept his lips shut.

He kept his head low and thoughts to himself (or as much to himself as he could, according to the disgruntling of Number Two) as he put all his energy and focus on Graham’s training, ignoring how the young knight looked more wound up than a Grandfather Clock, constantly with a blank expression on his face and fidgeting with whatever was near his hands (Number One had to express that doing so was impolite to do). 

But like all things, the king’s life came to an end abruptly, and the castle was sent into turmoil trying to figure out what to do, feeling the sudden sense of true loss with no ruler to serve. The guards, though, looked to Number One to help guide them all in the eye of the hurricane, as they knew that he served as both the head of the Royal Guards and unofficial advisor to Edward. And he knew that they were looking to him for guidance as they rushed over to him for every trivial thing. The only time he found himself alone, able to catch his breath for even a sliver of a moment, was when he was asleep in his office with the various addendums and pages regarding the funeral preparations surrounding him like a cage, however those brief moments hardly lasted as it usually took about ten minutes for someone to knock on his door about something or another. After all, he had a castle to maintain, a funeral to prepare and a coronation that a particular Knight Hopeful needed extensive training in.

Number One, as distraught as he was, couldn’t keep his mind focused on the funeral. He found himself staring at the casket, surrounded by the civilians and royalty of Daventry, thinking of what to do next, occasionally glancing over and spotting Graham with his hat removed but nevertheless fidgeting with it in his grasp (occasionally had to give him a small nudge to knock it off. Again, it was impolite to do so). But he couldn’t fault him. Not entirely. If anything, he was just as guilty of not being respectful for not allowing himself to simply be in the moment, to mourn with the others. He was, for all intent and purpose, preoccupied regarding Daventry’s new ruler. 

As soon as the funeral was done, as soon as the final patch of dirt was placed on the grave, Number One quickly went into preparation for the coronation. They simply had no time to waste and that meant increasing the private tutoring that Graham needed, as now he had to learn the proper decorum of what it meant to be no longer a knight, but a king. A ruler. 

Zards, what he would give to be able to curl up in his bed and sleep for an hour, but that was a luxury he no longer had.

Like a whirlwind, the coronation quickly came and left and in a blink of an eye, another year had passed and all of the familiar regalia and colors of the Late King Edward were all taken down. From black and yellow Daventry shifted to blue and red, colors that matched closely to the newly crowned King Graham (more specifically, his adventuring hat that he was always so fond of). It was odd for a while to see the different color scheme, after all, he had grown rather accustomed to the bumblebee design, and if there was ever proof that things were changing, he was wearing it. He continued things as scheduled, making sure everything was on track, taken care of, and that the new king was transitioning into his role seamlessly (or as seamlessly as he could make it, the amount of times he had to correct Graham to stop referring to himself as Sir Graham and instead as King Graham was absurd, he chose to ignore the young king’s muttering how he only finally got used to stop saying he was from Llewdor and to give him a break). 

“Ah, there you are.” Number Two’s voice struck through to Number One, snapping him from his trip down memory lane. Behind him stood by two other Royal Guards, clearly being trained under Number Two’s guidance.

“Yes. Here is me.” He snarked. “What is it? Did something happen? Was another Guard snagged by the moat monster?”

“No, and according to Kyle and Larry, it has been officially five months since our last accident.”

“Bully.”

“Anyways, ready to meet with Pockets?”

“Regarding…?”

Number Two gestured at himself, not needing to say more. Number One tilted his head until his eyes lit up in recollection: Of course! Costuming! That was the last thing on his list that he forgot. “Oh bloody… right, yes. Of course, that.”

“You forgot again.”

“Hush it, I didn’t.” Number One chose to ignore Number Three’s slight snickering. “Right, let us head in then, shall we? I also have a list of addendums I need to run by King Pockets.” He began leading the entourage towards the Throne Room, going over the list of things he should discuss with Graham. 

“I’m telling you, he is going to pick my outfit.” Number Two muttered, knowing that it would get under Number One’s skin.

“Nonsense, and to prove my point, we’ll let him see.” Number One retorted. It was the first ‘non-urgent’ task on Number One’s itinerary in well over a few months, and frankly, a nice change of pace compared to what he had to put up with normally. The costumes were, in his humblest of opinions, the least of his concerns. They were the same bloody colors, he did not see why the seamstress made such a fuss when he asked what the differences were (though the seamstress was adamant that there was a difference and he was color blind fool). Well, he figured, why not have Pockets figure for himself? He did win the Duel of Wits, after all.

Once the doors opened, Number One quickly noted Graham looking frantic, as if he leaped into his throne just this second, and what was worse, he looked to be… pale. Sick, even. But that must have been because of the seasonal downpour that Daventry was known for, nothing else.

With that in mind, he proceeded to begin with the first itinerary on his list of things to discuss about: Addendum 90210.

\--------------------------

That, in his opinion, could have ended better. 

Number One sat in his office and rubbed his eyes after finally finding the time to strip his helmet from his face. It started as a simple question to which Graham picked Scarlet Sunset because, in his words, Crimson Colada wasn’t doing it for him (zards, was he really color blind?) from there, after briefly rubbing it in Number Two’s face, one of the other Royal Guards asked regarding giving the king his daily foot rub, something that he undoubtedly knows Number Two put them up to as part of his ‘hazing’ ritual for both guard and king (because truly, how could the ruling crown do his job properly without a sole healing massage) only to have the other guard give him a proper update regarding the missing beds and the sudden increase on goblin sightings (something that he made a mental note to look into himself as it was peculiar that they had appeared around this season… it wasn’t normal). 

After Graham gave his opinions on how to handle the situation and who to send, that was when things turned for the worst as suddenly the Throne Room became overrun by dozens of other guards (they were supposed to be defending the castle, last he checked), steeds and an influx of squirrels. It was chaos, pure and simple. And Number One had half the mind to yell for order.

Thankfully, and shockingly, Graham had beaten him to the punch as he screamed loudly ‘distress’, a cry that was normally reserved for just that: a time of distress. This wasn’t a distress in his opinion, it was just chaotic and a nuisance at best. Still, his cries succeeded at halting the room, albeit only momentarily, before he began ordering them all to leave. 

And that, in Number One’s book, was as good of an excuse as any to find himself back in his office to catch his missing breath and look into the issues regarding the goblins. It wasn’t unusual for there to be goblin sightings, as it did happen from time to time, especially around the springtime and fall, and he would argue that it was also far from unusual to find them during the winter or rainy summer season. The concern was less the sightings and more of the frequencies, something that he knew was predominantly in the fall or late summer, but never during the storming seasons. For some reason, they always preferred when the time was dry to wreak havoc, never anytime else. At least… that’s what he was led to assume.

He reached for his mug, finding it shockingly dry (when did he finish gulping the last of his tea, he wondered) and grumbled momentarily to himself. He suppose he could go to the kitchen and grab himself a fresh batch, but that also meant risking the high possibilities that he would be grabbed to do something or another. 

Number One leaned his head back, took a breath, and stood up with his mug in one hand and helmet under his arm. He was simply too tired to place it back on, thinking that he should invest in getting a tea set in his office so he wouldn’t have to make this trek (although Number Two was adamant that that was a terrible idea because if he did go through with this, he would never leave his office, a valid point, he figured). As his feet guided him towards the kitchen, relieved that no one was stopping him, he beelined towards the teapot that was placed nicely over the firepit. 

Thank the shining stars it’s already prepped, he thought. Probably a request from Graham as the boy had replaced his fidgeting with his hat when he’s uncertain to simply downing tea like it was air. Perhaps he should make him a cup, he thought. He contemplated, sighed, and grabbed another mug, one that he recognized as Graham’s and poured in the drink there first before pouring for himself.

He blew on it so as not to burn his tongue when he heard the door creak open. So long for silence, he thought, as he heard the sounds of clanking metal boots against the marble floor. “Yes?” He asked, not bothering to turn around, “To what do I owe the pleasure of you about to interrupt my sip?”

“Sir, I come with a few things to report.” One of the guards who was part of the Throne Room fiasco, specifically known as Number Seven, spoke.

He turned his head, looking their way. “Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling the main halls, Number Seven? I thought I gave you clear directions that that was what you were to do today.”

“Ah… yes, you did. That is correct, Sir.”

Number One gave up at the sip and placed the mug down, turning to face his subordinate and give his undivided attention. “Well? What’s the report?”

“There have been further reports of goblins sightings, Sir.”

“We know this and I’m working on this. Who gave you the status of the goblin sightings?” Number One then asked. “Was it the Feys or perhaps the Hobblepotts?”

“Erm… about that…” Number Seven sounded hesitant for a moment. “It… actually wasn’t any of the villagers. It was one of the Royal Guards.”

At that, Number One raised a brow. “One of the guards?”

Number Seven nodded. “Actually, it was when they went to go see the bakers about creating a pie as per His Majesty requested and… they found the windows shattered and only from the corner of their eye spot something akin to a goblin, Sir.”

“What?” Number One sounded slightly alarmed. “How do you know this?”

“When the guard came back, they were on their way to inform the king of what had happened and stopped to notify me to keep my guard up.”

Okay, that was a good decision, Number One thought. “What did Pock-- His Majesty have to say about this?”

“So… this is why I’m here.” Number Seven physically winced. “The king is… well…”

“Yes? The king is what?” Number One’s patience was slipping at an alarming rate.

“H-he’s missing, Sir.”

Number One stood there, pretending that he misheard what the guard had to say. “Missing? Did you check his studies? His office? That little nook he thinks none of us know about?”

Number Seven frantically nodded their head. “We did, Sir. We looked everywhere, top to bottom. We asked the maids and butlers to look around and even Sir Acorn and Sir Whisper to investigate.”

He closed his eyes, trying to take in deep breaths to calm his officially shot nerves when he heard the distant voice belonging to Number Two and several other footsteps. Zards, he should have just stayed in his office.

“There you are.” Number Two said as he entered the kitchen, shutting the door once everyone was inside. “We-- oh… I’m guessing you heard the latest status?”

“Unfortunately.” Number One grumbled, opening his eyes and staring at the people in the room. Do you have anything else to add to this horrible bonfire of news?”

“Erm… yes. But it could perhaps help?” Number Two suggested.

The head of the Royal Guards sighed dejectedly. “Alright, lets hear. What is it?”

Number Two nudged the stacked knights and Number Three forward, permitting them to speak. “Right… well,” Larry cleared his throat, “we ah… we have an idea of where Graham might be since we were the last ones to speak with him.”

“But maybe you should be sitting down?” Kyle suggested.

Number One looked between the two of them, feeling himself shake with annoyance. “I am perfectly fine standing up, now pray tell what is it that you have two speaking in bloody tongues?”

“He… stepped outside, Sir.” Number Three finally spilled.

“We tried warning him that it was pouring.” Kyle quickly added.

“But he said he needed some air.” Larry defended. “And truth be told, he looked to be needing some.”

“Is he attended by any of us?” Number One then asked through gritted teeth, rage bubbling in his chest at the incompetence regarding his guards’ performances and hoping that one of them at least paused to think for five seconds. “Any at all?”

The room fell quiet and looked to Number Three. “Well… no. He just sort of… walked out. Alone.”

The guards all took a small step back as Number One’s face was exposed without his helmet and turned to a shade of red.

\--------------------------

The days piled on each other as the guards continued their frantic search for the missing king. As it turned out, it was not just him nor the beds that were missing, but all the villagers in the town square to boot (well, it was just the blacksmith, the bakers and the Hobblepotts, but that was semantics that Number One simply did not have the patience to argue over).

He divided his squad into several groups: Squad A would stay put in the castle, just in case something else bizarre would happen. Squad B would investigate the areas near the town, in case by some circumstances that a villager would return and could act as a messenger to relay the message from point a to point b. Squad C was the group that Number One deemed worthy enough to explore the Daventry woods. He knew that there were reports of wedzel wolves, mischievous badgers and other peculiar sightings, but he also knew those were where most of the goblin sightings were reported. It was a long shot, he knew, but it was the best he could think of under dire circumstances.

But that was well over a week or so ago.

He collapsed into his seat, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Stars above, he never thought he would find himself to be searching for a missing monarch. Lost? Maybe, sure. The castle had a tendency of being overwhelming to the unfamiliar masses, but kidnapped? That was the last thing on his plate. And now not only was the town and king missing, but so were the guards sent out on a reconnaissance mission of sorts. His mind worked overtime thinking up all the worst case scenarios it could muster that it rendered him unable to sleep for… hmm, he couldn’t recall. 

Still, he planned over fifty different lectures he would unleash on the young king when he found him 

(If he ever found him). 

Just what on Earth was Pockets thinking? That he could just waltz out of the castle walls like it was nothing? Like he wasn’t the most important figure in all of Daventry? He was no longer that scrawny knight from Llewdor but a scrawny king of Daventry, and the sooner that he got it through his curly haired head, the better off they'd both be. 

He was convinced that Graham was going to send him to an early retirement at this rate. 

The door to his office opened gently thanks to it not being entirely shut to begin with and Number Two entered with two mugs in hand. “Are you occupied?”

“When am I not?” Number One grumbled.

“Ah, good, you’re available then.” He placed the mug down for the other and took his seat. “It would be a ridiculous question to ask how you’re holding up, wouldn’t it?”

It only took Number One’s death glare for the other to get his answer loud and clear.

“Right, well…” Number Two took a sip from his drink. “Nevermind then.”

Number One glared at him for a moment before looking at his drink, gingerly picking up the mug to take a sip from it. “...thanks.” 

“Of course. Have to keep that throat of yours intact for all that yelling and ordering you’ve been doing.”

At that, Number One scoffed. “Fair point, but it needs to be done. We’re missing half our men, the villagers and our king.”

“You got me there.” Number Two looked over. “Any luck?”

“Nothing.” He sighed. “Any updates from the others?”

“I wish. I did go and check on Number Three, as well as Kyle and Larry, they’ve been searching nonstop now. You really rattled something fierce in them.”

“Compared to what I should have done, me yelling was the nicest thing.”

“Doubtful, I still have nightmares of the time you chewed me out for the way I made my bed the first time we met.”

“I stand by my criticism that slapping a pillow over a blanket hardly constitutes as organized.” Number One retorted. “Still… I suppose I do owe them an apology for yelling at them, it’s not like they planned on the king to get kidnapped.”

“After the way you interrogated them? Absolutely.”

“You’re never going to let up about my patience being cut short, are you?”

“Never.” Number Two took a sip. “Still, we all know where this is coming from so… no hard feelings.”

“Hmm…”

“I suppose that makes me the good guard to your bad guard.”

“What? Who decided that?”

“I did.”

The head of the Royal Guards rolled his eyes.

Number Two leaned forward and kept his voice low. “Be honest, how are you feeling, Ken?”

Number One glared at him for uttering his name so formally. “Truth be told? Not good. I just… I was never trained for something like this, or at least I was, but it was something I never imagined to come to fruition, you know? And you know me, I’m not the type to seek for something grander than myself. I quite enjoy not being in a whirlwind of adventure, that’s why I decided to be a Royal Guard.”

“That’s fair.”

“I just need a vacation after this. I heard Tanalore is nice in the summer.”

Number Two chuckled and leaned back in his seat when Number Three slammed herself into the doorpost, panting for air and startling the two guards in the process.

“What in the high heavens…!” Number One blurted as Number Two stood up quickly, his hand having moved to the hilt of his blade. 

“W… we found him! He’s back!”

“What?” The two asked in unison.

“The king! He’s back! With the villagers and the guards!”

At that, Number One dropped his mug which crashed to the floor, shattering into small pieces. He would have cared under normal circumstances, but the news of Graham’s return had his heart racing as he bolted out of his office ahead of the others towards the front of the gate, hearing in the distance Number Two barking orders in his place to get the maids and butlers ready.

\--------------------------

As the days passed and the castle was slowly coming back to its senses, Number One ran about going over his usual checklist: Was everything and everyone accounted for? Was the defense tight? Were everyone within the castle walls alright? It was the usual question he had found himself repeating twice a day since the kidnapping (first time when he woke up and a second before the day was through). 

As he breezed through the hall, making sure everything was alright (or about as alright it could be, all else considering), he found himself passing through the king's office, noting the door was shut. Odd, he thought, the only reason it was ever closed was when the king was conversing with someone in private or was creating a new rule or addendum. Something that Number One knew very well that the new monarch was far from familiar with. And last he checked, he was certain all visitors were not permitted in unless it was granted by said king. Unless… unless there was an unwanted guest holding the king once more captive. 

His hands shook (was it due to nerves or anger, he couldn't say) and slowly took hold of the hilt of his blade. Something was clearly off. 

He cautiously moved his hand over the knob, weighing the pros and cons of his decision when he heard a sudden shout followed shortly by a loud, metallic crash to the floor. 

Permissions be damned, Number One slammed the door open, his sword halfway drawn ready to strike the intruder when all he saw, slumped in his chair wide eyed and startled was the young king himself, alone. Number One looked around the room, trying to find what was out of place, what didn't belong, but the only thing that was were the scattered pieces of addendums littering the room, the few empty mugs that used to contain tea and at his feet the royal crown. Slowly, he looked back at the young man, still slumped but his attention frighteningly sharp on him.

"Your Majesty?" Number One spoke, sheathing his sword in place but leaving his hand on the hilt. "What are you doing here? You should be in bed resting."

"I… I know." Graham sighed, rubbing slightly the bridge of his nose. "You're right." 

He swiftly lifted the crown up from the ground and looked at it before back at the one who usually wore it. "Is there any reason you're here as opposed to your room?" He asked drly. "Are your bruises flaring up again? I can have Kyle and Larry fetch the Hobblepotts and--"

"No." He shook his head. "Don't. No need." Graham lowered his arm and stared at nothing, looking to be lost in thought. "Just… got tired of being locked away. Again."

Metallic fingers tapped lightly on the crown, wondering what to do or say next, but instead found himself staring at the king, acknowledging that the lighting in the room did not flatter Graham in the slightest. The dark bags under his eyes looked to be as prominent as ever, the gradient of black, blue and purple that was splatter along Graham's arm and jawline nearly appeared to be glowing against the fire's orange light and the slight sounds of his wheezing breaths were the only sounds being made aside from the tapping of the crown, the raindrops hitting the window and the crackling of the fire. "Right, well…" Number One placed the crown on the table. "May I then ask what this was doing on the floor and what all that commotion was?" 

Graham stared at the crown and his brows furrowed. 

Number One recognized that look, it was an expression he saw way back during the Knights Tournament, back when the young king returned reeking of sulfur with the dragon's eye without a familiar purple knight. It was a look he saw again during the Duel of Wits and then before the night he was taken by the goblins. 

It was the look of frustration. 

"Sire." Number One spoke up.

"It fell." He answered, looking away but his solemn expression remained.

"Of that, I highly doubt."

"Well, that wouldn't be a first for you to doubt me." 

He was taken aback by what he heard. "What do you mean by that?" Number One asked. 

Graham's jaw tightening, appearing to be regretting the slip of the tongue. 

"Your Majesty. What did you mean by that?" Number One demanded. "Where is this suddenly coming from?"

"What does it matter anyways? You're just going to be sarcastic and dismissive of me." 

"It matters, Your Majesty, because I have no idea why you're suddenly behaving like this." He pointed out irritably. "If you have something to say, then say it."

The king balled his hands into a shaky fist. "Just forget it." 

"With all due respect, Sire, I cannot just simply forget it." He placed his hands on the table. "The last time I did, you stormed off and promptly got kidnapped by goblins, so excuse me for not letting this line of questioning go." He saw Graham wince as Number One's voice rose just slightly. "Now, I will ask you one last time: what did you mean by that?"

"You don't trust me!" Graham's body tensed as he slammed his hand to the arms of the seat he was in, startling the Royal Guard. 

"That's not true--"

"Yes, it is!" He stood up, his hands to his sides shaking and looked at Number One, that familiar frustrated glare that the Royal Guard had come to recognize staring his way. "You don't trust me, let alone respect me, and don't you dare lie and say that you do, I hear everything you and the other guards have to say about me. You think I don't hear your snide remarks or the passive aggressive comments, but I do, even during the Knights Tournament, I heard them. I hear how the guards laugh behind my back and I hear how you all compare me to King Edward, how I can't reach to even half of his potential." His voice choked. "And do you think… Do you really think I don't know that? I- I'm the first person who could have told you that I am nothing compared to him."

Number One opened his mouth to rebuttal but for the life of him, he couldn't find the right words. 

"I'm not even from here, so what do I know? I don't come from a royal lineage, I couldn’t tell you what's the right addendum for what, I-I’m not anywhere near prepared to be anyone's king." His voice shook, but it was rising higher and higher. "T-the mere concept that the entirety of Daventry's existence is in my hands… it terrifies me to the point that I can't sleep.” He combed his fingers through his tangled curls, eyes wide as he looked to the floor. “Everyday… everyday since I won, I always wonder when I’ll wake up. When you or someone else will come in to tell me to leave because no one wants me to be king. I know I’m not the one people need because I’m not Edward or any of the other knights who should have won, I mean… I-I couldn't save one knight, how can I protect an entire kingdom? I didn’t even notice a handful of them were all taken from right under my nose!” His breath hitched again as he placed his hands over his chest, emphasizing with each point. “I know what you’re thinking because believe me, the sentiment is the same, how it shouldn’t have been me that won, that I… I shouldn’t be the one standing here with that on my head. I shouldn’t be king.” He paused, blinking back tears. “I shouldn’t be king.”

Graham’s legs shook, apparent that he couldn’t keep himself standing and took a seat, placing the heels of his hands over his eyes as he shook quietly. The Royal Guard stood still, recalling seeing Graham when he returned, skinnier than usual with no light in his eyes, staggering towards the castle gates with exhausted villagers and humiliated guards behind him. 

The feeling of total and absolute shame was right then and there scarred into memory for the rest of Number One’s life. 

“But in the end you saved the villagers all on your own from the goblins caves.” Number One countered softly.

“Not before letting them starve.” His breath hitched. “I… I had to decide who got food… who got medicine… I was only able to free one of them. And I only barely convinced the Goblin King to let us go.” He kept wiping his face. “The thought that if I failed to do so, is…”

Haunting, Number One wants to say. But instead, he remains quiet, processing each and every word Graham yelled out. It was a lot, to say the least. He was so caught up in the franticness between the funeral, the rushed coronation, speedy lessons and the failed rescue mission of the kidnapped monarch that he forgot to take into account that he wasn’t the only one taken by the wave of pressure and panic. 

And in that moment, sitting in the seat by the fireplace, beaten black and blue with exhaustion in his eyes was not just the ruling king of Daventry, it was a tired, hurt and scared twenty-something year old who felt (and somehow knew) that he was in way over his head. 

He took a breath, exhaling all the confusion and anger he felt just moments ago to look at Graham properly with the new perspective the young man lashed out on him. Proper etiquette dictated that he should leave the monarch in peace, or at least bring someone to help escort him back to his room. But instead, Number One fiddled with his fingers for a moment before deciding to break protocall and remove his helmet, placing it beside the crown. 

“If… I may voice my thoughts, Sire?” 

Graham nodded but not before wincing at the title.

“I apologize for the way I have been behaving. You’re right in that it is in no way appropriate for me to act the way I did and for that, I apologize.” Number One spoke slowly. “I know I have a tendency of voicing my thoughts at times--”

“Loudly.” 

Oh, are you quoting Number Two, now? “Right, loudly.” Number One echoed, exhaling, reminding himself to keep his head cool. “And while that might have slid while you were a contestant, it doesn’t when you are either a knight or a king. Especially a king that I’m serving. This much I should have known considering I’ve been your tutor of sorts for almost a year or so now regarding the etiquecy one needs to have.”

Graham let out the equivalent of a scoff.

“By now, you should know a few things about me, but there is one thing you should absolutely commit to memory by now, and if you don’t, I’ll remind you: I am blunt with my honesty and opinions. So with that said, you are correct on a few of the statements you’ve said that were my thoughts. That being neither from royalty or a native to Daventry were the two main things that had been plaguing my thoughts ever since your coronation.” Number One saw Graham lower his hands. “However, those were my only thoughts on you.” 

The tired young man looked at Number One, his expression reading loud and clear that he didn’t believe him, but the Royal Guard continued. “I never thought you were not nearly as capable as King Edward, after all, he did leave Daventry in a rather… poor state before his passing. And I say this as someone who had served at his side for as long as I can remember.  
Now, are you prepared to take on this role? Perhaps not, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that makes you a bad king. If anything, it’s reflective of my training on you. You were trained so intensely to be a knight, the sword and shield of the crown, shifting yourself from one position to another is… daunting, to say the least.” He glanced at the golden headwear, “And if there is anyone who should take on that weight of the kingdom pressure on one’s shoulders, it should be me, not just you.”

“But I’m the king.” Graham mumbled.

“That is true, however, your circumstances at becoming king is unorthodox. Unheard of, really. Under normal circumstances, you would have had a longer training period, especially under the tutelage of the late King Edward himself. Instead, it was me. And I didn’t even give you the courtesy of giving you my undivided attention. I’m by no means saying this is an excuse on my end, if anything it validates your…”

“Frustrations?”

“Grievances. But unfortunately, it is what it is. And once again, I do apologize for my actions.”

The two remained still when all that could be heard the crackling fire and soft sniffling from the young king. Number One did not dare to question him further, wanting him to catch whatever breath he had after letting so much go, but he did instead pull out a handkerchief he always had just in case, handing it over to Graham who blindly took hold of it, revealing the bruised bracelet that patterned his wrist. 

Graham lowered the handkerchief, looking at it for a moment before breaking the silence. “I threw the crown…”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The commotion. You asked earlier what happened… I threw the crown.” Graham rubbed his eyes again. “I shouldn’t have and it was immature of me… but I did.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I’m immature.”

“Try that again.” Number One corrected. “A proper honest answer, this time, please.”

Silence fell in the room again before the king spoke up again. “It’s not… it doesn’t feel...” Graham frowned. “Its weight… it feels heavy. It doesn’t feel right on me and everything it symbolizes it just…” He wiped his face again. 

“It’s not who you are.” Number One worded properly. “Correct?”

His shoulders shook. “I… I hate it. I shouldn’t, but I do. The weight of it… it crushes me. It’s suffocating.”

He was told of the story that Graham had regaled the Goblin King, about the young goblin adventurer that was thrusted into the role of king and felt overwhelmed that he contemplated running away until he found his old adventuring hat. How… much truth was in that story, he wondered. But all it took was for Number One to recall that when Graham came back to the castle, his headwear not being the heavy crown, but instead that familiar feather cap. It wasn’t King Graham that saved everyone, it was Sir Graham the adventurer. Even back during King Edward’s funeral, it was that feathered hat that gave him comfort, it was his only sliver of his identity he had left.

And Number One really should have noticed this sooner.

“You know… I have heard of rulers who didn’t wear the crown frequently.” Number One spoke up, picking up the heavy crown. “They’d wear it for formal events such as coronations or weddings… but even then, that was a stretch.”

Puffy red eyes looked his way. “Edward wore it all the time.”

“Yes, well, you’re not Edward now are you?” Number One looked at him. 

“What are you suggesting?” He raised a brow.

“That perhaps that you don’t need to follow to the letter the old reigns of Edward, that perhaps your feather hat works just fine.” He placed the crown down. “That maybe Daventry is ready for a new adventure.”

Graham gave a small smile, wiping his face from any residual tears. “You’re willing to go do that with me?”

“And miss out on part taking and seeing her grow past her stagnate phase? Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Pockets.”

He let out a laugh before falling into a coughing fit.

“Eloquently put, Sire.”

“Oh, hush.”

Number One, in turn, gave a smirk.

**Author's Note:**

> I always enjoy fics from other character's perspective, why not have one of one of the Royal Guards? Specifically the sassiest one of the bunch?


End file.
